Grayscale

by A. E. Clarke

  I sighed. “When can I tell her, then? I can’t keep this from her forever.”

  “Let me try to figure out if it was just once, okay? I know Scott’s already pissed at Alex, and—”

  “Whatever,” I said, trying not to roll my eyes. I didn’t want to tick him off, but now I had to sit on this, and I had no clue how long I’d be able to keep it from Holly.

  “Listen, please—don’t tell her yet.” He pulled me into the bus shelter and into a hug. I tried to lean in to kiss him, but he shied away, the worry clear on his face. “I promise I’ll talk to Scott about it as soon as I can, and I’ll find out more.”

  “You’re going to talk to your brother about it.”

  “Yes.”

  “You’re insane.” I stepped back out onto the street. Brent followed, still looking nervous. We turned into the plaza where Starbucks was. “It’s okay, h—dude,” I said, noticing his ears turning bright red. I’d almost called him “hon” in public. That could have been bad.

  “I’ll do it for you…dude,” he said.

  I looked up at him and grinned. “Really?”

  “Yeah.”

  I punched him in the shoulder affectionately—the closest to a hug we were going to be doing in public—and opened the door to the Starbucks, gesturing for him to walk in ahead of me.

  Holly is going to kill someone when she finds out about this.

  Chapter Seven: Holly

  I stepped into the little playground area of the park. It was after dark, so I didn’t need to worry about any children being around. I let my mind wander for a few minutes as I walked around the play equipment.

  I’d been holding back on doing anything with the electricity that I could feel constantly coursing through my body. I’d kept it mostly inside my skin, too, even though it made me feel jumpy and uneasy the entire day. I didn’t want Jesse to know about this—at least not yet, not until I could figure out how to show him.

  It was selfish, I’ll admit. They were my powers, not his, so part of me wondered why he had to know at all. But another part of me was genuinely worried for him. When I thought about showing him my control over this, I flashed back to when we were younger. There were good reasons that he had to take anger management classes.

  I stood at the top of the slide and held up my hand, the small blue arcs of electricity playing across my palm. I had no idea how he was going to react, but it would be really good or really bad. My brother was a boy of extremes.

  I sighed and shook my head. There wasn’t any point in trying to divine how he’d react, especially when I wasn’t even sure I wanted him to find out. Either he’d read enough comic books to find it amazing, or he’d be terrified. No way for me to change that.

  So I may as well see what I can do with this, eh?

  I’d been itching to try things out all day, but Jesse was home from school and had a friend over by the time I had woken up from my post-work nap, and I hadn’t had any time to myself since. It was nice to be able to stand in the park and not have to worry about Jesse or Alex seeing the electricity.

  I went down the slide, feeling a little childish, dragging my hand down as I went. The slide was metal, like the rest of the playground equipment—we had to be the last subdivision in the city to replace our old, dangerous equipment.

  When I reached the bottom, I made a gun shape with my fingers and pointed it at the slide, letting the electricity play around for a second, marvelling, and then cocked it back, slowly. A couple sparks shot out from the tip of my finger, but they were thin and short.

  I can do better than that.

  I pointed again and this time jerked my finger back quicker. A single spark shot out, and it was a lot thicker. There was a tiny crackle for the second that it was in the air, but it still only shot out about three inches. I frowned.

  Come on, I’m even trying here!

  When I was playing around in the bathroom, without even meaning to properly shoot out sparks, it had gone about six inches between my finger and the mirror.

  I held my hands together and pointed both of my index fingers, the tips touching. Electricity crackled between my fingertips. It tickled, and the fact that it felt like it should have hurt gave it a bizarre edge.

  I jerked both hands back, and the bolt—it was definitely a bolt this time—shot out and hit the slide. I expected to see it crackling along the thin metal sheet, but it didn’t actually show itself at all. I scowled. If I hadn’t wanted to see the results of what I was doing, I’d have shot the sand itself.

  I looked around, shivering in a breeze that had picked up. There was a small group of pine trees nearby. Leaves had blown up against their lower branches, and they were rattling in the wind. If I was careful about it, I could use those to see how powerful my powers really were.

  I grabbed a small handful of the dried leaves and brought them over to the slide, placing them down on the flat part at the end, holding them there until the breeze died down. I crouched and concentrated. I felt like something was going to go wrong, like Jesse was right behind me or someone would see me as soon as there was any sort of flame from the lightning strike.

  I looked around, but the park was as deserted as ever. The feeling didn’t go away, but I ignored it.

  I pointed both hands at the pile of leaves, but then lowered my left. There had to be a way to do this one-handed. I knew I was strong enough to do it, because I’d marked the bathroom mirror at work. I focused on my index finger and jerked my wrist back. A lightning bolt shot out, thicker than it had been before but still not long-lasting enough to hit the leaves.

  Frustrated, I placed my hand on the leaves. Not warm in the slightest. It had definitely fizzled before getting there.

  Sigh.

  I took a step back and aimed again, pretending I was holding a gun in my hand despite just pointing my finger at it. I could do this…and without the gun shape or saying pew.

  As I whispered the sound, a bolt crackled from my fingertip, though it was weaker than it had been with the shooting motion. I closed my eyes.

  If that had been strong enough to spark the pile of leaves, I think I would have given up on this forever instead of running around shouting pew-pew-pew. There had to be a way to do this without sounding like a child.

  I pointed and stared at the leaves for a moment. I couldn’t see them very well in the low light, but I focused on what outlines I could make out, and then jerked my hand back. A bolt crackled and shot from my fingertip—a lot louder than I was expecting—and hit the pile of leaves. They ignited instantly, with small flames licking up the slide. Amazing! I had started a fire with nothing but my own energy!

  Now the part I hadn’t thought about yet. I had a small pile of burning leaves in the middle of a public park. How did I put them out?

  I bent over to scoop up some sand to throw on top of the leaves, but the breeze picked up and blew right up the back of my shirt. I straightened quickly, the sand flowing between my fingers.

  “Hey! Kid! Put that out!”

  I whipped my head around to find a cop leaning out his car window at the edge of the park.

  “Shit!” I threw the dirt at the leaves and sprinted in the opposite direction. I didn’t really think the guy would follow me, and even if he did, he’d be smarter to just drive around the park. Still, I didn’t want to take any chances and would rather look like a trouble-making teenager than an arsonist.

  At the edge of the park, I glanced back. The cop car was still there, but the officer had gotten out, and as I watched, he gathered some sand and threw it on the pile of leaves by the trees.

  Oh, fuck. I closed my eyes, thankful the cop was there. I hadn’t even noticed my little pile of leaves get picked up by the wind. It could have easily gotten out of control.

  I turned away and started walking calmly, heading home but in as roundabout a way as I could.

  The more I thought about it, the less weird I felt about running away from the cop. I’d been brought up to explain myself a
nd to respect the police, but this was different. This was self-preservation.

  And hey—now I know what I can do with this. All I need now is to get better at it.

  Chapter Eight: Jesse

  I walked into the kitchen early the next morning, rubbing my face to try to wake myself up a bit. I needed coffee, food, and a shower before I was really up to talking to anyone.

  “Hey, Jesse.”

  I looked over at Holly sitting at the kitchen table and grunted. I’m not exactly what you’d call a morning person, but she was used to it, so she just went back to her breakfast.

  Grabbing what I needed from the fridge, I stuck some butter in a pan and left it to melt.

  “So how are you?” Holly asked.

  I turned and raised an eyebrow at her. “Fine, I guess?” I cleared my throat, hoping to dislodge the gravel, and went back to the fridge for some milk to help me sound a bit more normal.

  “What was up with you yesterday, anyway?”

  Ugh. “Can we not talk about this right now?” I kept my back to her, cracked an egg into the pan and stuck some toast on. “Aren’t you already late for work?”

  “Nah, I picked up a later shift today.” She came over and put her dishes on the counter next to the sink. I shoved her aside and shifted her dishes to the dishwasher. “When’re you leaving?”

  “Fifteen minutes or so.” She had a determined look on her face, and I held my breath in anticipation. She only looked this serious when she felt like she needed to be in parent mode.

  “So what was wrong yesterday?”

  As I turned away, she gripped my arm, and I flung it to the side without even thinking, hitting her hand hard against the counter. She yelped in pain and let go of my wrist, taking a step away.

  “Shit, Holly, I’m sorry!”

  She just laughed, rubbing her wrist. “I guess I kind of asked for that, didn’t I? I’m just glad you’re never actually angry enough at me that we’d have to fight. You’d kick my ass in a second.”

  I did my best not to grin and elbowed her out of the way so I could grab a spatula out of the drawer to flip my egg.

  “But you’re just proving my point, you know,” she said.

  I raised an eyebrow, still looking at my egg. “Oh?”

  “Well, you haven’t looked at me once, have you?”

  I blinked and then forced myself to meet her gaze. “I dunno, I hadn’t noticed.” My voice was a lot calmer than I felt.

  “Bull. You always look everyone in the eyes—you used to creep people out with it.”

  I shrugged and went back to dealing with my breakfast. “I dunno,” I said, concentrating on buttering my toast. “I’m not doing it on purpose.”

  “Why don’t you tell me what’s wrong and drop the bullshit?”

  I put my sandwich together, cut it, and sighed. She was waiting for a response, and I wasn’t sure what to tell her if not the truth.

  I promised Brent I wouldn’t tell her until she figured things out with Scott, though.

  Yeah, you did. And you tried. Now tell Holly the truth so that she’ll get off your back.

  And have Brent angry at me instead?

  It’s easier to beg forgiveness than to ask permission. Especially when he’s already told you not to.

  “Well?”

  “Alex is cheating on you.” I clamped my teeth shut as soon as the words slipped out—I’d been planning on telling her to just leave it, but my mouth didn’t follow what I wanted it to do.

  “He—what?”

  “Yeah, that’s about what I said.”

  “That’s ridiculous!”

  I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. “I…I’m pretty sure of where I heard it from.”

  “Where?”

  “I don’t want to—err, I said that I wouldn’t say.”

  “Let me guess—your girlfriend told you?”

  I closed my eyes and breathed deeply. “No, it was a…friend.” I wanted to say it, but I was already getting angry and didn’t want to spark that potential argument, too.

  “How the hell would they know?”

  “I’m pretty sure he—”

  “Seriously, I’m not going to believe you unless you tell me how the hell this guy would know.”

  “I—why would I lie to you?”

  “I dunno, but I’m not just going to take this on good faith—you’re telling me that Alex is doing something I know he’d never do.”

  “I’m, uh, friends with Brent, Scott’s brother.”

  “Oh, Alex says Scott’s turned into a giant asshole,” she said, sounding relieved that Brent was my source of information.

  “Because clearly he’s not saying that to cover his ass,” I said. Idiot.

  “Jeez, are you—”

  “—actually listening to what you’re saying? Yeah, and I think I’m the only one!” I snapped, and she took a step back.

  “Calm down, Jesse. I’m just saying—”

  “You’re an idiot.” I’d stopped listening to her—gone back to how I was when I was younger—and I needed to get out of her way. Snatching up a plate and my sandwich, I walked towards the stairway.

  “Jesse, get back here and talk to me.”

  I wheeled around and threw my plate at her, but I didn’t release it at the right time, so it hit the counter next to her, shattering into a dozen pieces and making her cry out. I couldn’t tell if it was from surprise or pain—she’d blocked her face with her arm when I threw the plate. Honestly, I didn’t care at that point.

  She was still calling after me as I stomped up the stairs, eating my sandwich, and slammed my bedroom door. I winced at the loud bang echoing in my room.

  Okay, I haven’t done that since I was about twelve. I took a few deep breaths and waited for my pulse to calm down before I chanced going to the bathroom. I’d apologize to Holly after I got out of the shower—give myself time to cool off. Hopefully, she’d still be around.

  This was the first time in years that I’d completely exploded—that I’d done something stupid like throwing a plate. I sighed, disappointed. Holly would probably just step around the mess, too, instead of sweeping it up, so I’d have to deal with that before school.

  It was strange. I went from being a messy child to a bit of a clean-freak teenager, mostly due to the anger management classes. Cleaning was something productive into which I could channel frustration, and living alone with Holly meant there was almost always something to be cleaned.

  I’d rebelled against the anger management classes, but as time went on, I could tell they’d really helped. I used to throw and break things every week or two and would get into fist fights with Holly almost daily—fights that, due to my size, almost always ended with me crying, even more frustrated.

  What I still disagreed with—but quickly learned to stop talking about—was the reason behind being sent. Holly had locked me in the living room while we were alone in the house, and suddenly the light had gone out and the TV was acting weirdly. I stopped trying to get out of the room—there was no way I would have been able to move her at that age—and lay down on the couch to wait her out. Next thing I knew, I was being blamed for the TV screen being broken and for setting the couch on fire!

  I still don’t know what happened, but it had eventually led to something good: not only was I much more able to keep myself calm but when I did explode—like downstairs—I knew how to say sorry. I didn’t think that I’d hurt her, to be honest, but I still needed to say sorry.

  But she kind of deserved it for being so fucking dense.

  I swallowed the thought as I walked downstairs, pulling my T-shirt over my damp hair. “Holly, you still here?”

  Silence.

  “Guess not,” I said and went back to my room to get ready for school. I’d send off a text and then apologize properly when I saw her later that night. Close enough.

  Chapter Nine: Holly

  I unlocked the door, stepped inside the house, and dropped my bag in the foyer. Jesse would deal w
ith it if it got in his way.

  I was concentrating hard on acting normal. I had spent the entire bus ride home from work trying to figure out how much I could get away with in public without people seeing me and wondering how the hell I was doing…whatever the hell it was that I was doing. I was shaking, and I wasn’t sure if it was from excitement or electricity.

  I walked quickly through the house and opened the back door, double-checking to make sure Jesse had cleaned up the plate he’d thrown. It was a little bit warmer today than it had been yesterday, but it still seemed gloomy. The cloudburst hadn’t done anything about the heavy cloud cover we’d had the past few weeks. Even with the grey cast to the light, though, the backyard looked beautiful.

  I looked around, content with what I could see of my neighbours’ yards: almost nothing. That meant they couldn’t see anything in my yard.

  That’s logical, right? I’m not going crazy?

  I laughed aloud, letting out some of the stress from having discovered this amazing ability and then needing to keep it secret. Well, except at the park—but the cop probably didn’t see me using my powers to shoot lightning bolts out of my hand. And hell, if he did, he would have assumed something else had happened.

  I started a fire, though. I wasn’t going crazy…I think.

  If anything was an indicator of my going crazy, it would be that I was pretty sure I had superpowers. I was either a freak of nature or I was hallucinating.

  Oh, well, enjoy it either way, right?

  I stood in the middle of my admittedly small backyard and was really glad for the privacy fencing that my parents—army types that they were, bless their paranoid ghosts—had insisted on getting.

  I walked to one end of the porch and tried to gauge the distance to the railing on the other end.

  I would say that looks to be about…oh, twenty feet or so. I swayed back and forth in anticipation, eager to see what I could do without having to worry about prying eyes.

  Holding my hand in front of my face, palm facing outwards, I closed my eyes to concentrate on letting all of the energy in my body flow into my hand.